rescue operation
by wielderofblood
Summary: so we all know the rescue part is hardest. what if they actually helped? and what happens after rescue? 3 oc's and only original l4d. rated t for zombies, gore and language
1. suit up, first rescue

this is just going to be a short fiction (maybe 4 or 5 chapters), been playing l4d lately and figured i would write one. A little rusty on fan fiction but figured hay what the hell. Read and review if ya want.  


Hell. That was the only way to describe what had happened. Everyday a new challenge, be it swerving the APC to avoid a tank, making the best time to help survivors or just trying to run over as many walking dead as possible, James did what he could with what he had.  
They had most groups evacuated but still the odd call came in. After dropping off a group of three adult males, he had just gotten another call to an old barn. Tired to the point of dropping off James agreed to go and grab them, since the other vehicle was already out.

Most runs had soldiers with rifles or even just handguns to help but they had all gone with the other group, and the remaining always busy. Rather than take the four that was decided nessesary, James took his two friends.

The APC started to fill up on gas as he ran around grabbing things.

"James!"

Turning he saw his two friends run up to him. They were both geared up to go, and while both were brothers, they geared up incredibly different.

Rick was the younger of the two cresting the six foot mark easily and weighing in at easily three hundred pounds. It was an on going joke that he saw a Tank and got jealous so he bulked up to go hand to hand.  
Rick had honest to god plate armour on. A breastplate with a combat vest overtop of it. Two pistols were holstered there along with extra clips, for that, and a riot issue shotgun. To cap the image off, Rick had a old fashioned cavalry sabre strapped to his back. his pride and joy, when something got close he would slash and hack with the blade, causing more damage than his pistols did. The two small guns were really only for cover, and the shotgun only truly used for a tank. Rick had earned the nickname, Tankbuster for his habit of unlimbering the shotgun, and emptying the whole thing into a Tank, then resuming with the sabre or pistols. Normally jean of black for his lower half and hikeing boots with steel caps.

Stan was the older brother by a full eight years, but was much less physically imposing. He had black hair with streaks of grey giving a salt and pepper look. Unlike his younger stronger brother, Stan was a marksman. No armour, against claws but clothing and the steel weapons or bullets that decorated his body, Stan was known to take crowd control to a whole new level. Two pistols, decorated his sides, all easy to draw for a quick fire shot. Then there was a long barrelled military issued sniper, one that took hollow point rounds to ensure maximum damage per target was always strapped to his back, for long range witch hunting. Below the two pistols was a pair of SMGs, with solid tipped bullets designed to shred and pierce bodies for crowd control. On his chest were four grenades, normally for a quick exit. Then beside the sniper was Stan's pride and joy; always polished to perfection and ready to lay waste, was a gleaming grenade launcher.

"You look like hell." Stan bluntly said.

"Just got back and I'm getting sent out. Four people at a barn apparently."

"Just get us there, and we will do the rest." Rick rumbled.

James grinned. It was his job to carry hurt people back to the vehicle or to give field aid if needed. And of course to make sure no infected were on the transport. If a survivor was infected then they would be shot and dumped. No exceptions. Of course HQ had made up some serum that more or less killed the effects if caught early. Figures it took them a couple weeks to do, and of course it wouldn't work on fully infected people but it had helped to stop the infection and now the number of survivors at their HQ was just about a thousand.

"just don't try to arm-wrestle a Tank."

The APC was out and on the highway in ten minutes. Lighting up a smoke, James took a drag.

"So how long ya figure?" Stan asked.

"Not long. Assuming we don't get stuck behind a bus maybe an hour."

No one spoke that to get mauled took less than a minute.

"Were they under attack when they radioed in?" Rick questioned.

Both he and his brother rode in the back, that officially held 8 people, the small area was reinforced with metal everywhere, not only to strengthen it but to increase weight so as to protect form a tank.

James took a long drag and exhaled before answering.

"if they were i doubt they would have had time to radio in. They said they would be hiding in a house, so if they are smart they're shutting up and hiding. May not have to fire any shots at all if we are lucky, course we could be going to find a merry little party of retarded teenagers getting munched on by a hunter."

"Don't even joke." Stan scolded.

The vehicle flew along the road, the odd time James swerved, to either hit a zombie, or avoid rubble of a car or corpses, often barely missing in the darkness.

The sun stared to peek out to thin out the darkness.

"Shit." James muttered.

Dark shapes ran around the old wooden house, and gunfire rattled out.

"How many?" Rick asked, standing in the small compartment, limbering out.

"Too many... wait no. Those four are putting up a good fight, we may be able to tip the scales."

James spun the wheel, so the vehicle was reversed with the compartment to the door. He began backing up.

Zombies charged.

"time to kick some walking dead ass" Rick crowed.

The door opened and gunfire erupted into the closest zombies.  
Shouldering his rifle James went to the back and knelt. Stan and Rick stepped out and kept shooting while rick tapped a few buttongs. The lower grate lifted so Hanes had some cover, and one on top also folded down, leaving a narrower area. Enough for James to start shooting though, and with a button the doors would spring open, making for a fast get away.

James started shooting, he mostly looked for the long tongued fuckers.

"There's the vehicle!" the older man yelled. He had a cigarette in hsi mouth and was using an army assault rifle, shouldered against an old army Vietnam uniform. He had a limp in his knee form shrapnel and a bear that everyone seemed to hate.

"Francis! Zoey! Lous! We gotta move!" Bill hollered spraying the stairway, trying to hit the head but not overly fussy.

"REALOADING!" He called ejecting the spent clip and slamming a new home.

The college girl beside him kept shooting with her pistols, hitting the head most of the time, the odd time missing. Her brown hair was pulled into a pony tail and her leg was bleed from a scratch through her jeans. The pockets on her hoody bulged with fresh clips and her back pocket with a first aid kit.

To her back was a black man with no hair, a white dress shirt and black pants, shooting with an assault rifle of his own, not down the stairs but out the window, stopping them form being overrun from behind. After it was clear he would often reload the rifle, and spin to help clear the stairs form the never ending mound of zombies.

On his other side was a man with tattoos, a leather jacket and combat boots. He blasted with a shotgun down the stairs and loved every minute of it.

"Bill, i think we are stuck here for a bit, if we go out there we are too open!" Louis cried, spinning to shoot down the stairs.

Bill grumbled as he kept the cycle of firing and reloading. This had been going on for the past few minutes, after the radio call they had remained hidden in the upper level of the house, a bedroom with a clear line of fire on the stairs.

A roar took Stan and Rick's attention. Rick had his sabre out and was using it and a pistol to eliminate horde zombies close by. Stan was using his own pistols to kill off the straggling zombies close by.

A hunter landed on Stan.

Reacting quickly Stan pointed both handguns up and let fire. The hunter jerked as bullets tore through it but after a couple died, well before it could start ripping into Stan.

"You okay?" Rick cried swinging the blade around.

"peachy!" Stan replied reloading his two guns.

The line of zombies stopped and it appeared all of them were in front of the house, fighting to get inside.

Both soldiers charged. Stan Saw a boomer in the middle and holstered the pistols and had the sniper out in a fluid motion while his brother stayed close to protect him. Most thought Stan covered Rick but in really it was the other way, Stan shredding the bulk of the zombies form afar while Rick pulverized the closer ones.

The powerful sniper roared out the 6 bullet clip, killing the boomer, a number of horde, a hunter and hit something with layers of muscle.

The tank roared and charged out, coated in boomer bile smashing zombies that tried to grab it.

"That tank going out of the house?" Francis asked, sounding almost disappointed.

"There's two guys outside, its after!" Louis called, shooting shapes trying to enter the window again.

Grumbling Stan slammed a new clip in and let rip all six shots into the tank; It kept charging, not even slowed as chunks of flesh left it. A group of zombies turned to run with it.

Rick stabbed his sword to the ground and limbered out the shotgun. The tank got closer before Rick unloaded. The shotgun shots peppered the tank, tearing skin and layers of muscle from bone in a spray of gore. Ten shots hit the tank before it went down, after that last two were pumped into it as well to make sure it stayed down.

Rick began re-strapping the gun to his back seemingly un worried by the running horde.

Explosions rocked the area, three of them in quick order. Stan had holstered the sniper and used three half of the ammo for his launcher to devastate the zombies.

"SURVIVORS! ASSES OUT OF THE HOUSE, GET TO THE TRUCK!" Rick bellowed, using his pistols once more to shoot the remaining zombies. The sword was once again in its sheathe.

An older man in a Vietnam uniform ran out, closely followed by a grol who looked about twenty, a black man and a biker looking man.

Their guns fired wildly to clear a path.

"follow us to the truck!"

The six ran for dear life.

James grumbled, firing as fast as he could. Another group, a really large group were coming his way, and he really didn't want them to scratch up his baby.

"Rick! Hold up, range those guys bee lining for the truck!" Stan hollered. He stopped and spun toward the growing horde. Unleashing his last thee shots from the launcher, Stan effectively cut it down by a quarter.

"just run!" the old man cried. Stan held out a hand to stop them, running ahead was a ticket to death by zombie or crossfire.

A tongue lashed around the hand and began pulling Stan.

Scoffing he yanked back hard as he could, and in a fluid motion slashed the tongue off.

The four survivors started spraying into the horde, and they ran in their direction now.

"Molotov's!"

Three bottles arched out and lit a blaze, slowing the advance.

A beeping pipe bomb even reversed it slightly.

Stan finished re strapping his prize, and his hands drew out his crowd control. The solid point bullets tore through the ranks, shredding meat and sending blood and chunks of meat everywhere. While it truly didn't kill a zombie unless it hit the head, or severed the spine, it was touch to move without any muscles.

"Move in!" Stan cried, all six people moved at a steady walk towards the ride, spraying bullets as they went.

"FUCKING HURRY UP!" James screamed, shooting out another clip.

Another horde approached as the group finished off the first.

They just ran to the truck, the doors sprung open.

James already had it in gear as a hunter leapt in and landing on Rick, just as the doors began to close.  
Bones cracked at the hands found no flesh but cold steel. Rick punched the zombie off him and his brother pumped it with rounds.

Just as the doors were finishing closing James pulled two grenade pins and hurled them toward the group.

The explosion rocked the vehicle and obliterated the lead pursuit.

Silence reigned as the group breathed easier.

"HQ? James here, we got four live ones and toasted maybe three hundred zombies. At least two hunters, a boomer and a tank."

"Roger that, hurry back."

"You guys are in for a treat, you lived. When we get back, drinks on us." Rick told them, as he began cleaning his sabre

"He means on him." Stan grumbled as he began the task of reloading all of hsi guns and cleaning his launcher.


	2. real first aid

Hola. My friend pickle read this through and threatened to sick the grammer Nazis on my ass to tries to make it better in that regard. Hope ya like it.

The APC crunched gravel. This was a road well maintained, and had a unique colour. This was red road, the trail that everyone followed back into HQ. It had earned its name, while it was being cleared of trees zombies had flocked to the noise of chainsaws, and the energy of the area. Of course those same chainsaws had proven effective anti zombie weapons. There was talk of lining it with concrete walls as well, but concrete was tricky. It had to be guarded against an attack the full three days or more it took to dry, and even a single smoker tongue, hunter leap or god forbid a pissed off tank could ruin the whole attempt.

"Where the hell we goin?" the biker asked.

"You'll get the whole story when we arrive." James called.

"Okay, we need to check for any bites on you guys. If we catch them early the infection can be stopped." Rick told the older-man.

"You see any blood kid?"

Stan snorted down a laugh. To see a skinny older man call the residential 'tank buster' a kid, was just hilarious.

Rick missed the humour and hefted the first aid kit.

A large fist pointed tot he ground. A red liquid was pooling.

The black man's white dress shirt had a red stain on the ribs.

"Louis!" the girl gasped.

Stan held her back, and withdrew a large hunting knife.

"You can't be serious skinny." The biker growled standing up to as high as the cramped vehicle would allow.

Rick rose as well, withdrawing an identical hunting knife.

"Sit down punk."

The biker sat down.

" We just said we were going to treat it. Dumbass, Hard to do that without cutting off the shirt piece." James voiced.

Stan sliced through the shirt gently, while his brother rick held down the man.

"so what's your name buddy?" Stan asked as he worked.

"Louis. I'm and accountant."

"Oh, is that so? So do any major monetary funds?"

Stan looked at the wound and grimaced as he ignored the rambling. It was a definite infection wound. It looked to be from a hunter claw.

"is it bad?" the old man asked kneeling beside Stan.

Stan shifted to let him get a look.

"talk to this clown and if you have to help hold him down. We have pain killers but this is goin to hurt like hell."

The bearded man nodded and moved forward to talk to Louis.

The red first aid kit opened and Stan injected two full needles of morphine. The infection countered all known drugs, so while this normally would kill somebody, now it would just barely be as effective as prescription pills.

Stan nodded. Rick nodded.

The hunting knife flashed and Stan sliced off anything purple and a centimetre afterwards.

"Hold him down, this will get rough."

Now the main infection was gone, Stan injected a smaller amount of morphine. Out came a small black needle. It wasn't so much as a cure as a detox from hell. It basically mixed blood thinners, with cleansing agents that would kill traces of the disease. This particular detox though, had a nasty habit of accelerating the heartbeat, and straining the circulatory system, wracking the body with immense pain for as long as a whole hour.

Stan injected the full needle, shuddering. He knew first hand how much it had hurt, and had been pumped full of the stuff on three occasions.

Pulling out gauze he stuffed the wound, packing it closed, and tightly bandaging it, if the claw went deeper the man would have died, but since there was no major arteries broken, and only superficial damage to muscle and fat, the man survived.

A bump brought cursing all around. The APC had no buckles, or seats, all removed to increase capacity and add armour and thus weight.

" Sorry, saw a witch and couldn't resist a splatter."

They rolled up to the outer gate. This was made off six foot thick concrete double wrapped in jagged electric barbed wire. They also towered up twenty feet.

Red dots flickered onto the vehicle.

Soldiers walked a perimeter on a wooden walkway, hunting rifles with laser sights were mandatory as well as night vision goggles.

"This is your HQ?" the girl asked.

"Yours now too." James called back. Another cigarette last spewed smoke at the side of his mouth.

They stopped at the gate.

It was the only place with lights. Small helicopter landing ones, solar powered.

They illuminated a massive stone gate. In actuality was a standard security steel door, dipped into wet cement to further strengthen it. The gates had chips missing but that the best a tank could do. Chip away the concrete, since there was so much weight at the bottom from the tons of rock and metal it made them impregnable by all a zombie could do.

Of course this was also the most vulnerable point, being only three feet thick and half as high.

The doors had one small hitch. They had no hinges, they rolled side to side, sliding into the main wall, taking twenty soldiers per door.

The slowly slid open barely enough to fit the veichle.

James eased it through. Four gasps came from the back aside two chuckles.

Stopping to look back James chuckled too.

"Makes me laugh every time", he said resuming driving.

Short chapter. Tried to make the quality better. Hope ya like


	3. i think I'll go by Pat

Bit of a delay but chapter three is up. Hope ya like it. If you like review it. If you don't like, review it and say why :D

The stone door boomed shut behind the APC. The area inside was concrete, and surprisingly small. Stone walls loomed above, with soldiers walking along the top.

Metal structures were inside, made of steel or stone. No wooden buildings were in sight, no wood at all except for the odd long stick standing up with a small fire burning for light.

"Where the hell is this?" Bill asked looking out the front windshield.

"The headquarters. Duh." James said finishing his coffin nail and dropping what was left of the filter into the ashtray.

There was around 16 buildings, give or take. It was tough to see in the dark, but beside every door was a post with a little flickering flame, and in the larger clearing near the centre was a campfire. Shapes flickered around the main fire, just people and for the first time in many, many hours, no one even felt the need to have so much as a pistol out.

A rifle round shattered the image of peace. Several more thundered out close to the first, near a dozen rounds.

"Must have been a few of them." Stan muttered.

The APC rolled into a stone building with a big metal garage door. The door began grating closed and James killed the engine.

"Okay kiddies time to get outta my ride." James cheerfully said.

Everybody piled out of the vehicle into the garage. There was another nearly identical APC in the same bay.

The floor was concrete like most else it seemed and the building itself was more of the same. The door was metal, very thick metal by the looks of it too. there was a long slit at around shoulder level on the door, large enough for a rifle to shoot through. The garage could double as a standing point if the walls were ever breached.

"This whole place gives me the shivers." Louis complained, looking around.

"Come on, we'll show you where to dump most of your weapons. Not allowed to walk around with guns unless you are on the wall or on duty." Rick said. He walked deeper into the building and opened a door with a squeak of hinges.

Waited for the four battered survivors before leaving himself.

James sat in the darkness. The lights were motion censored and while he was in the APC they wouldn't turn on. All the light in the room was a red circle and he inhaled tobacco.

The back of the garages doubled as weapon storages. There lockers lining every inch of the wall, all labelled with contents. Some were small squares and labelled 'handguns' while others were long rectangles labelled 'shotguns'. Some were named after people and had locks on them. Rick popped open his and unlimbered his riot gun hanging it inside. His sword went in beside it along with the two pistols. He un buckled the vest and hung it up. He was un buckling he pate armour when Stan walked in.

"We keep all the spare guns in here along with ammo. There's a list by the door if you want something specific. Stay outa personal lockers and no one will have a bone with you taking anything. Oh and if a locker says shotguns, its not specific. There could be auto shotguns, pump action shotguns, sawn offs, riot guns or whatever. After you show your worth on a mission or three you get a locker."

A loud clatter came from Rick as the plate armour slid off to the ground. There was a dent in the front where the hunter had gone to town. Rick braced it and used a palm to un dent it.

"Dump your stuff and be sure to unload it all. The clips go in with the guns, there should be boxes in there. We have other cases in storage."

The four dumped their guns grumbling slightly.

"What's this tub here?" the biker called nudging it with a foot.

"chainsaws." Rick answered locking his locker.

"Francis leave em alone" the older man ordered.

Grumbling, Francis closed the tub.

"That reminds me. When we find melee weapons we just toss them into tubs. They are never labelled and you can find some neat stuff." Rick commented.

"So what now? We sit here and do nothing?" the girl asked.

"If you really want I can show you somewhere private to do some fun stuff." Stan muttered. Rick smacked him.

"We have to report in. You guys can do pretty much whatever after that." Rick told them.

Francis grunted as he rummaged through a tub. He found a knife and slipped it into his boot, always good to have one.

The building in dead centre of the base was command. Made entirely of concrete and rising up above most of the other structures it was an imposing place. Only one door was in dead centre of a wall. The rest was coated in barbed wire with the odd one in hold, large enough to shove a gun barrel through to fire. Four men were on the roof, walking around, two used binoculars to look around the base while two others were scribbling things down.

Stan lead them into the building, stopping at the door. It was sealed with a metal door. It swung open and Bill was surprised at the thickness, around 8 eight inch thick steel. Nothing could get through that, not even a tank.

Surprisingly the door led to a set of descending stairs. They went for a bit into a basement. No other rooms, just a large room. No furniture was around, and no rooms, just a single wall with a break in the middle across the room. Concrete barriers from highways were in place around the room; making a beeline to the entrance of the wall impossible.

"killbox?" Bill asked.

"Served in nam?" Stan asked.

"Two tours."

"what the hell is a kill box?" Francis asked.

"You lure the enemy in then mow them down. Its an area you have ready to defend, a place to clash, then retreat. Heavy casualties to the enemy with minimum loss." Bill explained.

It took around fifteen minutes to navigate the room, it was almost like an anthill with several branches leading in, zombies would just run, and rarely climb unless forced too. they came out of the their route face to face with a pair of heavy military machine guns. There was no one manning these guns, but it was clear that with both shooting it would have been impossible to get through.

They squeezed through and saw that to either side were stair cases. Taking the left one brought them to the next level.

A repeat of the floor below them, but with less concrete and more machinery.

"This room is designed to defend itself." Stan narrated.

Machinery hung everywhere. Long arms with buzz saw blades hung from the roof, with saw mill blades sticking up from the floor. Blades attached to motors sat motionless. At the flick of a switch the whole room would fill with gleaming steel, slashing apart anything. This room was clearly designed to deal with large numbers of the horde.

The group rose up another set of stairs to find a room filled with dozens of people. Desks were everywhere and it looked like a modern day office. No cubical walls though, just desk, chair and a computer. People wrote by hand as often as typed it seemed, since no one was using the computers, just using pen and paper.

"Where the hell do you guys get all the electricity for this stuff?"

"Every building has solar panels on them that sustain any need for that building. this one however needs more energy than that. it has some panels but all the extra energy from the other buildings are stored in generators on the floor above us. This buildings draws on that extra energy. Of course at night, we conserve what we can. We like to have around 80% in the generators, a full night with this building online would kill around 50%." Rick pitched in. It was seeming more a tour than a report.

"hoe many floors are there?" the girl asked.

"what was your name again?" Rick asked.

"Zoey." Zoey replied.

"There's the two more floors."

They went around the maze of desks and up to the next floor. It was occupied by a dozen generators and what seemed like a forest of wires. Two or three men walked around checking connections and making notes.

They went up the stairs to find a metal grate blooding it. Rick banged on it three times.

It swung open upwards.

"Mind your manners. The mastermind of this place is through here." Rick said back before climbing up.

With him out of the way, they saw a ladder. Clever since it limited the number of zombies that could climb up, a pair of gunners could hold the ladder indefinitely.

A large table took up most of the room. The walls had windows. Rather than glass it looked to be a mixture of some kind of plastic and glass, as thick as the walls with a square cut out, large enough to accurately shoot a rifle out of. This would be a sniper tower in a attack it seemed. One wall was covered by a shelf, though it was visibly on wheels so it could be moved. It held the large maps that schools used. Dozens if not hundreds of maps were on the shelf with one of the surrounding area currently on a stand beside the shelf.

A man sat along at the table with a lamp on. He was a small man. Around the five foot five mark, with no fat on him, but barely any muscle. Paper was strewn around him, filled with different writing and he himself was scribbling things down while consulting a small map.

"Stan Smith, reporting in." Stan said standing at attention, like a military cadet.

"Rick Smith. Reporting in" Rick rumbled standing similarly.

"Yes, yes at ease. speak up, I'm a busy man." The smaller man said still scribbling, not looking up.

"This punk is your leader?" Francis snickered a little to loud.

Before anyone could do anything a knife whipped through the air, thudding into Francis's boot, just the side, slicing the leather but not causing damage.

The paper was fully covered in writing and he was reading another. A second knife in his arm, the arm cocked back and ready to throw.

"holy shit."

"Three human survivors and a moron? Not bad boys well done. That should earn you some time off, leave if this was a military base or you weren't so dam good. Where is James? He was your driver he was supposed to show the HQ ad bring them here. Whatever, I'll deal with him later. Show these guys the ropes; have them fill out the papers and bring them here in the morning no later than 0900. After you bring those papers to an attendant test em out. Stan take two down to the range and see how their marksmanship is. Rick, the other two go with you to melee practice, then switch at noon. 1500 i want you six here, I expect reports in full, and then you guys can have some time off."

"sir, your name?" Stan reminded.

"I'm sure they have their own. Any takers on bets for, hmmm lets see. Maybe that asshole, or the crazy boss guy."

"sir." Rick began.

"I think I'm going to stick with Pat for now. You four have questions ask around. Don't bother me unless you want to leave the base, want a mission or need something special. Make an appointment with the attendant by the main door. Barrack number fourteen is empty, show them to it boys. If they want food, get them some; not too much mind you, don't want them puking to much up tomorrow during testing."

The man finally looked up at the group.

Dark eyes, deep and sunken locked onto each person's own eyes. No one could meet his stare, each felt small and insignificant. His face was pale, like he never got out much and his black hair was long and shaggy.

"Biker moron. Get that knife out of your boot, and while your at it get the one I threw at you back. I catch you with a weapon again in here again, you lose a finger; the middle one which I bet your favour."

Francis jerked the knife out and handed both to Rick. Muttering about how cops were better than this guy he stepped back, clearly shaken.

` "See you guys early. Don't let the grate smack your head on the way out, i don't want blood on the door. Dismissed." Pat said initialling the paper ad picking up the last one to his left.

"Sir." Rick began.

"No word of her yet. We have two dozen in the field; all are due back in the next two weeks. After that we will review your request with the whole council. I believe you were dismissed. Do not make me repeat myself."

Everyone hurried down the grate, Rick closing it behind them.

Barrack number fourteen was just like the other fifteen. A larger building with two doors. It housed twenty people at most. In theory ten females on the left, ten males on the right, though no one truly followed that.

Stan and Rick left at the door.

"pick a bed and sleep tight. There's water in there, some liquor if you want it as well. Write down who drink what though, we like to keep track, the stuff is limited. First night you get it free though. Enjoy."

The two brothers left.

Bill stepped in first. Flicking a light-switch and kicking off his boots Bill smiled.

The room was like normal apartment albeit bigger. The main 'living' room had some couches comfy chairs and tables. A kitchen was next to it with a fridge and cupboards complete with wooden stove.

"Wow. Nice place." Zoey said stepping in next.

"Hey, i had the same furniture at my place!" Louis exclaimed.

"Shut up Louis. No one cares." Francis told him.

The main room had two hallways. One with went straight with a door at the end with three on the side. The other hall was the same.

"Two bathrooms." Bill noted.

"this place s nicer than where i was staying." Decided Bill going to the kitchen. He foud a bottle of whiskey and grinned.

"we shot bullets for hours. How about shooting some whiskey?"

Bit of a boring chapter.  
next chapter is called 'just a little puke'


	4. just a little puke

Hey here is chapter 4. Just a little puke.  
switching it up to follow Louis around. He felt un loved.

Hangover sucked. They sucked hard. Louis sat up to a blaring alarm clock. Anything that ungodly loud had to be illegal, he should call the cops.

A moment later Louis realized he was not in his small apartment. There were no cops to call what so ever and since the first time he left during the zombie apocalypse, he had no weapon.

Rising up Louis felt the pounding in his head and muttered under his breath. He drank rarely and he tried to keep up last night. Even Zoey had drank more than he did, never mind Bill or god forbid Francis.

Pulling on his clothes he glanced around the room, ignoring the coolness form the holes in the white fabric or the largely red portion. The wood door was open and the room largely taken up by a bed, a small desk that looked to be from a high school and the a small closet with a pair of towels in it. Apparently no one had lived here in quite some time.

Louis made his bed like he always did before he realized with a chuckle that he could die any day. Leaving it half done, he turned and left the room, not bothering to close the door.

Shambling into the kitchen he found the empty bottle. Bottles would be a better term it seemed with two empty, one whiskey and one tequila. Louis didn't even remember having any of the clear liquid.

A quick hunt turned up a cup which he drank some water down, then left on the counter.

Bill was sitting on the couch, tying his boots. He wore the same clothes as well, apparently no one had gotten new clothing.

"How ya feeling sunshine? You got pretty tanked last night."

Louis grumbled.

Zoey came into the room next. She was wearing her same pink hooded sweater with blue jeans. The jeans had a tear on the leg from something or other, and the hood splattered in red, hair pulled into a tail behind her.

"Where the hell is Francis?" Bill asked.

Something grumbled form the corner. Everyone jumped reaching for where they had kept guns before.

Francis wore his leather jacket and even his gloves still. He stuck out from the closet, his lower half obscured by a towel.

A knock interrupted the entertaining scene.

"Open up, you guys need to suit up for your lessons!" Stan's voice called through the metal door.

Bill stood up and un bolted the door.

Stan stood there with Rick slightly behind him talking to a smaller boy. He was dressed very differently, wearing no weapons of his own and only a black tee shirt with grey cord jeans. Rick was in a muscle shirt showing rippling muscle with a black windbreaker coat, he wore blue jeans.

"Keep our pants on, we're coming." Bill told him.

A minute later everyone left, grumbling about the light and noises around them.

It was too damn early for the tired and hung-over.

"Who wants what first?" Risk asked as they walked. The base looked more cheery in the day although granted still the same dull grey of concrete and steel.

"I'll shoot." Bill volunteered.

"I could blow off some steam. Melee sounds fun." Francis said.

"Shody shooting!" Zoey said.

Louis shrugged, how bad could the melee thing be?

His back connected with a mat for the what felt like the thousandth time. Louis groaned.

"Guess you can't use a club, your hands, or something like a chainsaw." Rick said shrugging.

They were trying dull models or wood models of different weapons. Everybody had to be proficient in one apparently, to a degree where you could be an asset if you ran out of ammo.

Rick was only using his bare hands and even unarmed overpowered Louis with relative ease.

"maybe a bladed weapon. Any ideas?" Rick asked extending a large hand to help raise him to his feet. Practically lifting the smaller man, Rick looked at Francis.

To the side were tubs of different weapons hauled out from a small shed. Francis was talking with a couple of other people, waiting for his turn to be tossed around like a ragdoll.

"I don't know, what do you have?" Louis snapped.

They kept wood weapons of only things they had in storage. It was all a very organized system that made the accountant impressed.

Rick hoisted the chainsaw. It had no chain on it so really it was a club, it wasn't eve ruing, but Louis had barely bee able to lift it let alone ward off Rick.

The chainsaw had its own special box, which Rick opened and tucked it into. The h turned to the tubs. There were three of them, one labelled 'blunt', one labelled 'blades' ad then another labelled 'misc'. The blunt tub had nothing Louis used well. A club with rubber spikes, clubs, baseball bats, bascily anything blunt that could be swung, there was even and old fashioned mace. Of course beside the mace was also a frying pan.

Rick popped open the 'blades' tub. Each with its own sheathe were various bladed weapons all supposedly dulled to not even cut paper. What looked like a spear was tucked inside near the bottom which seemed odd, and Louis didn't even want to attempt.

Ignoring the knives Louis rummaged through. picking up a scimitar he toyed with the idea, then realized he would get tired to quickly with it.

He picked up a wooden axe, then replaced it with the same problem. Then he decided on a hatchet.

"Things to know about a hatchet." Rick began. Louis groaned inside. Before using a weapon, Rick rattled off various tips, and techniques to use.

"You have a short range, to this is good as a last resort, great for hunters though, one good swipe will take them down no sweat. Smoker tongues get cut easy enough but if you see a witch don't bother, and a tank, then kiss your ass good bye. You sacrifice momentum of a axe for the speed of swing though, so if you flail around it is actually good, it will drive off hordes. Aim for joints on them, you wont be able to slice bone very easily, or a neck, cutting off the head will take down a zombie, or a broken spine."

The two settled into wrestling positions.

Rick tossed a rock at a bowl, the clang was the start.

Charging in swinging his arms around wit no real pattern, Rick advanced.

Louis swung, but was to early and missed. The wooden replica came back easily though, and he scored a solid hit on Rick's arm. It would have driven back a zombie at least.

"That's the best yet. Set that one aside and let's look in the last tub." Rick informed him with a grin.

The last tub was odd. It held things that could double as ranged weapons or just odd things. Ninja throwing stars were there, metal gauntlets, and even a tazer.

Rummaging through again Louis didn't see anything he really liked. But just a hatchet was kind of lame, and Louis wouldn't mind standing out a bit more. He supposed he would just have to make the hatchet look damn good.

"Okay. So blade practice nights are every second night. I can't really show you much since i don't use that kind of thing."

Francis went right for the saw.

Grinning like an idiot he lunged forward.

Rick sidestepper and rammed a fist into his chest knocking the wind out from his lungs, the metal saw from his hands and hsi feet from under him.

"Don't attack with that, its defence you moron, if you want to attack that's what a gun is for, chainsaws run out of gas real quick on a trip and you sure as hell cant siphon some out of the APC."

"I'll find it as I go then."

Rick took the tool and locked it up again.

Francis picked up a machete next.

"Not a sword, remember than it's not a delicate tool. You want to use the weight of the swing to kill with each movement. Hack them down like weeds. Good for witches, one hit if you aim it right, if you miss though you're dead. Won't do shit against a hunter, if he gets you then your toast. If you get the jump on it then you could deal out some massive damage to a tank, but not kill it alone. Not likely anyway."

Francis proved to be good at swinging the heavy blade around, fending off Rick for almost a full minute.

"Thats a fairly balanced weapon. Do you want to look at the misc tub?" Rick asked rubbing his forearm where Francis had gotten a solid swing in.

"Lemme take a look."

Francis tried out some gauntlets. They were metal and covered up to his elbow with metal. The knuckles were spiked with inch long pieces of metal, which were currently covered in a rubber stopper around the palm, and the knuckles.

"I don't think I need to tell you how to brawl. Just keep in mind you don't want to go on the defensive to much."

Francis picked up the metal machete as well.

"Lets see how you do against both."

Rick raised an eyebrow.

"Fair enough. But let me pick a weapon of my own."

Rick flipped open the misc tub and came back with a pack of metal dulled and corked throwing knives, holding three knives smaller than the combat ones.

Then a tossed a rock rang the bowl.

Rick opened with a knife throw that clanged metal handle first against the metal gauntlet.

Francis replied with a mighty swing of the machete. Rick pulled both knives and hooked the blade, yanked it away, then tossed both. Francis blocked one by a lucky flail of the arms. The second one cracked his stomach. Said stomach promptly emptied onto the ground.

"We told you that you might puke." Rick commented with a chuckle.

Francis staggered back.

Jumping the puddle Rick shouldered Francis, knocking him down.

"Shooting is up next, hope you don't puke." Rick said, after stripping the gauntlets off Francis and making a couple notes on a clipboard.

Walking back the way they came, the groups swapped.

"So pick your gun, whatever you want, I won't toy around trying to get one that fits you. We got the lot from magnum pistols AK47s ."

They were at a shooting range, a paper target around twenty feet down. The room they were in now, held lines of guns on the wall with filing cabinets of bullets, labelled for different guns.

Francis went first this time. He picked out an auto shotgun to try out. Then a desert eagle.

"Five shots per gun, how well you shoot depends how often you get sent out."

The shotgun roared out five times, the target ripping to pieces. All five had hit. Another target slid up, and the powerful gun blasted it, cracking out loud as a sniper, four shots hit, three of which tearing the head.

"Okay then, I'd say that's a pass. Nearly everyone takes three guns by the way, did you want another?"

Francis picked up a sawn-off shotgun with a smile.

Louis looked around. He knew Francis liked booming guns, Bill the repeater weapons, and Zoey handguns. He never really cared, taking what he could get.

"Need a hand?" Stan asked, stepping up beside him.

"I've never really been picky before. I took what I could find."

"Well if you want raw power at range, a shotgun is your best bet. Accuracy would be a rifle maybe a hunting rifle. A mix is the handguns, maybe a magnum in one hand and then a lower calibre in the other. Repeaters are for big groups, like an M4 maybe."

Looking around Louis picked up a hunting rifle. He figured he was a good shot so may as well snipe. He picked up a magnum next, something to deal with bulk would be nice. Louis scanned the walls. He spied an odd looking gun.

"What kind of gun has a plastic clip?"

"I never saw that there before. That would be the P90. It shoots really fast, smaller calibre bullets though, for precision, same with the scope, oh and it is a lightweight gun too, meant for average build people."

Louis took the gun, surprised at how light it was.

He started with the hunting rifle.

"Stand back more if you would. That is a sniping weapon after all."

Louis backed up to the wall, firing wall to wall would be closer to forty feet.

Five shots cracked out, each lancing the head of the paper figure.

"Here is a special one." Stan said.

A paper tank came out.

Louis rose and aimed down the scope of the P90. He was still forty feet back. he opened up on the tank cut out. He fired more than 5 shots, he emptied the clip and by the time he was done, the chest and head of the thing was shredded.

To be sure Louis went forward and raised the magnum. While not as strong as the desert eagle, it was still a strong gun. The cut-out began to slide away on the belt. Louis fired another 5 shots at it, three hitting it.

Stan whistled.

"You four are pretty damn good shots. In the top twenty to be sure."

"Have to be to get around." Francis muttered.

Stan made a few notes then grinned.

"Okay. That's it for the day. We meet up at command and then you guys get outfitted with clothing, combat vests, and whatever. Normally we wait till Pat has looked over your reports but i can guarantee you guys made the mission cut. I wish we found four people like you every week."

Bit more exciting. The next chapter is going to be called bullet run.


	5. red road skirmish

Hey next chapter, pulling a bit of a late night to do it so hope you guys like it.

Sorry plans fo this changed a bit, I wanted to do some detail on the fortress that comes to play later. this chapter is called "red road skirmish"

XxXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The sun was setting as Francis and Louis made it back to the small barrack.

"Okay, so I'll talk to Pat about your scores. We need to make a supply run, so you four will most likely go for that."

Louis opened the door and entered followed by Francis; Stan turned and left as spot lights began switching on.

Bill and Zoey were sitting down already. Both drinking what looked to be coffee.

"hey guys." Zoey said.

"How'd you make out on their tests?" Bill asked scratching his beard.

"Better than your beard did I bet." Francis retorted kicking off his boots.

"what did you guys grab for weapons?" Louis asked sitting down.

"I went for a M4 carbine rifle, an UZI and an AK47. For the whole beating the crap out of things, i picked a knife. My damn knee didn't hold out too well for much else." Bill told him. After finishing his recounting of rick throwing him around like a rag doll and marksmanship shooting with Stan, Bill lit up a cigarette.

Zoey went next, saying how hadn't really thrown or hit her much at all, but still easily subduing her without much effort. The weapon she picked was a baseball bat, an aluminum one, smaller than a massive ones for the major leagues. Guns were vastly different for her, taking five rather than the three. Two were Sig pistols, holding 16 bullets a clip, two were colt revolvers both packing a significant punch, more than the other two guns but far less than a magnum or desert eagle. The last gun was actually a flare gun.

"A flare gun. What good is that?"

"Well we could use it as a signal. Or of course, light a tank or a bitchy witch on fire."

Everyone chuckled at the thought of burning the witch.

Francis shrugged and muttered shotguns and ass kickery.

"Went for a P90 gun for bulk, a magnum pistol, and then a hunting rifle to snipe, then a hatchet."

"Are we just going to go to bed? Lets go check the camp out!" Francis declared.

"Go ahead, I'm tired, going to bed." Louis said. He went to his room closing the door behind him.

Everyone else got up and left.

People were walking along the walls with the odd rifle shot cracking out into the night.

"Feels weird to be un armed." Francis admitted looking around in the gloom. After checking every corner for so long, being 'safe' felt odd.

Closer to the center of camp music sounded out. Techno music, and the sound of laughter.

"is that a rave?" Zoey asked.

Going around the last corner lights flashed brightly in varying colors while people danced. Both men and women were around, and when louder beats played more rifle crack sounded out, some seemed almost in tune to the music though.

"fun looking eh?"

Turning, they saw Stan standing off to the side. A pistol was in a holster at his side and unlike all the lightly coloured dancers, he wore black.

"So much for no guns." Bill stated.

"This? Doesn't shoot bullets, shoots tranq rounds. We use them for security."

"Why security here?"

"there is booze. Girls, and guys with booze, can often lead into fights."

"Why not get the muscle mound to handle em?" Francis asked.

"I'm covering for him. He wanted to cut loose."

"Go have fun. If anyone does stupid stuff, i'll break it up. Relax, its Friday, so go enjoy."

"You guys keep track of the days?"

"Fridays we have this dance, Sundays are supply runs, Wednesdays are thinner days. Those are the only ones that matter."

Before they could ask him anymore, shouts erupted from the dancefloor.

Two men were trying to fight.

Stan took off running, his arm snapping up to let loose two darts. They both hit the men in the stomach.

"Looks like fun."

Francis was gone.

"Looks like we can have a good time." Bill said with a wink at Zoey, he then walked into the crowd.

XxXxXxXxXx

Pat sighed. The rave night always attracted so many zombies, he needed a way to kill the ones by the fort, without wasting bullets. Musing on the thought of dropping boulders then retrieving them the next day.

Letting out another sigh he looked at his paper work.  
The next supply run would ideally be all bullets. He had ordered soldiers to conserve ammunition as much as possible during the thinner days. They had killed tens of thousands of zombies but literal millions remained.

Of course that had led to the training of hand to hand combat, and then a unit that specialized in that area. They were often sent out to lead the thinning days, since they used the least ammo, and rarely took losses.

He opened a folder labelled soldiers.

Spreading out the paper clipped stacks he examined them. One group and been hammered hard last time it was sent out, losing almost half of its twenty men.

Grumbling, he re arranged the units. Origninally there had been a hundred soldiers but that number had actually grown.

Now there was roughly a thousand people at this fortress. Of those thousand of course, only six hundred or so were soldiers. That number varied nearly every day of course.

Many people had suggested they build another camp, but every time that suggestion was brought up, Pat was quick to stamp it out. People didn't truly realize the resources it had taken to build this one. Without solid steel walls or thick stone, one tank would decimate the perimeter and then it would only be a matter of time.

Pat pushed those thoughts out of his mind. He reminded himself that unless the majority of the zombies in the area were killed, then most likely, they would all starve. It was only a matter of time, soon as winter hit would really be it. The area had poor shelter, stone and steel holding little heat. That would be a minor issue though, compared to the shorter days. Less sunlight meant less power.

The solutions to these long term problems were what Pat worked for but in reality, the problem of eliminating zombies always came first.

Drawing out a folder that was smaller, Pat examined how the new recruits were. In the month they had gotten fourteen survivors, and lost thirty eight  
James climbed the ladder.

"Problems never seem to get easier to solve eh." He stated taking a drag.

"Took you long enough to make a report."

"You have the reports on that little folder. All I do is play fetch."

"You know damn well i trust you to report on other things." Pat snarled.

"Wanna know the shape of the surrounding area? Hell."

"I've had a rough day, don't make me take it out on you holy man!"

James grunted before falling silent.

"The surrounding area. Did you notice any areas that could have had supplies?"

"It wasn't to a major city. Couldn't tell you."

Refilling the folder of reports, Pat set it aside, but not in the 'done' pile.

"We need to store roughly three times the ammo her have for the winter. Grocery stores need to be check as well for canned goods and non perishable, and of course, bottled water. IF we don't stockpile for winter, the bottom line is that we all will die. The council just keeps pushing for a second shelter and it's all I can do to stamp that out during the meetings.

"So? You are the person calling the shots here, we both know the council is a formality."

"A formality that makes people feel represented and not rioting."

"Let me guess. You want an armoured convoy rolling out to the next big city we haven't tapped yet?"

"Damned straight."

James pondered what that would need. Every APC available, with storage room on the way back, so they wouldn't have maximum man power, and in a city, maximum is what you needed. Each APC varied in it's load size, James could hold around 10 people, counting the driver. Originally twelve but the process of tank proofing the transport added several layers of weight and armour, decreasing space inside.

"How long would we be there?"

"Start at dawn, gone ASAP."

"You are kidding, to fully load would take a day, we would be driving all night to get back."

"About that, we have a few modifications to make to each vehicle, they are under way as we speak though."

James didn't question it. This happened every other day.

"let me know." James told Pat. He turned to leave.

"Hope to god, the damn council will go for this. Jesus, they make me mad sometimes."

"Do not use the lords name in vain." Was the automatic response from James.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Bill sat down on a bench. His knee wasn't much for dancing. Zoey and him had danced to some techno song then split up.

Stan materialized n the gloom beside him, standing while loading the little dart gun.

"I'm too old for this shit." Bill grumbled.

"You have experience. Most people have to kill for that, I doubt you will get sent into the field again, they will want you to teach."

"Why in the hell would I want that? I have an enemy, gimme my gun and let me go kill em."

"Still full of piss and vinegar at your age? Impressive."

The two veterans sat or stood off to the side. Neither would dance even if they could.

Francis yelled at the DJ. He wouldn't play any metal; and techno just sucked.

The next song came on with a long guitar riff.

Bon jovi wasn't metal, but it sure as hell beat techno. Francis grinned and went to a group of younger girls.

Zoey was trying to have fun, but she was never a real party girl. A good horror movie would have been to her taste but then again, after only seeing undead for so long, it was a nice change. She danced best she could, to raving music, to two step music and even tried to do some kind of Spanish dancing the other girls were doing. Horror movie or no, it was a fun night.

Morning came early.

If yesterdays sleeping arrangements had been weird, tonight's were just plain odd. Louis had been in his own room, which was normal. Bill had fallen asleep in the fridge, for only god knows why. Zoey had come close to her bed, her legs hung into the hall way and her upper body in her room.

Francis was asleep in the bathtub, still fully clothed, with his boots on, but no socks. Tied boots no less, but no socks to be found.

Same as the previous morning, the door shook on its hinges from being knocked on.

Rick stepped in after a few moments of waiting, Stan peering in from behind them. They both chuckled at the sight. After another few minutes of shuffling around and shaking the sleeping group awake, all Six people were walking toward a large field, the only grass left, the same place where Rick had strained them with melee weapons.

"You guys have an assignment." Stan told them.

That was a quick hangover cure. The microcosm of the fortress was shattered as the survivors were forced to remember the world outside the stone walls.

"What are we doing?" Louis asked.

"You each need to arm yourselves. We got reports of a really large group of zombies coming down red road. Too many for just sniping, so we are suiting up a group to intercept them just outside the gate."

"just us?" Bill asked.

"No around fifty of us." Rick corrected.

Everyone belted on their close quarter weapons and left for the gun armoury.

After their guns were all strapped onto belts, and various clips stuffed into pockets, the group left.

The main gate was closed, no soldiers were lined at the braces to open it either.

"We won't use the gate for this mission." Stan voiced answering the un asked question.

He pointed to the long lines of soldiers at the top, on either side of the gate.

"Rick will brief you, good luck guys. Rick, don't you dare die." Stan threatened.

Two tall towers on either side of the gate had soldiers in them, they had long rifles in hand. Stan was heading towards one of those.

"Okay so here's the breakdown. Stan is going to be one of the snipers in tower one. We have around a hundred men on patrol at any given time, for now we have around a hundred and ninety on duty. Twenty in each tower and then, fifty going down, of the fifty, forty are in the CQC squad, with myself overseeing the ground work here. How this works, is I take point. Forty of the men on the ground fan out around me, and we wait. All of us will crouch down so the remaining ten will get the first strike. All four of you are in the remaining ten. All your job is, is to open fire in the beginning until I say stop, then while we retreat you lay down cover fire for any zombies following. After we advance, you guys will walk half the distance we did. All your jobs are, is the special infected. Hunters not so much, if they jump one of us we can all toss them away. Smokers may take pot-shots at us, so watch for them. Then there are tanks. Every soldier was at least one gun. Aside from you ten, none of us will use them except on tanks. Most of the CQC squad will only carry a magnum pistol, or some gun along those lines. You guys see a tank, bet we will be giving it a berth. You see those big bastards, you light em up. Keep in mind the snipers will help with them, and during the fall back. Questions?"

"How are we getting down there, and back?"

"You'll see."

The five went up the right side and saw five hanging platforms, swaying slightly on steel cable.

"neat huh? These handy little elevators will drop us down and take us up. A trip is around thirty seconds one way.

"How many people a platform?" Francis asked eyeing the contraption.

"Five. We all go down in one trip, all come up in one trip."

"Good plan." Bill stated.

Everyone piled onto one platform. It was made of steel with a guard rail on either side, but not on the front or back, for the ease and speed of loading. Five people had to stand a little close, but not uncomfortably so. The car made very little sound as it slid down, the cable swaying slightly under the load.

A non combatant had stayed up top with each lift. There was a motor lifting and lowering everyone, with a person to man each, along with three standing there, Rick had briefly mentioned they would haul on the cables if a motor was going dieing out.

Forest and a concrete road awaited them.

Rick took charge soon as his boots landed.

"First line! Get into position, ready your weapons! I want this tight boys! Lets go wedge, formation, commanders on point, do not make me repeat myself."

The groups form both smoothly former into a tight triangle. Stan was on the tip of one along with two other large men on either side of him.

"Wedge; five paces forward on my mark, then crouch. Firing squad; single line on my mark. Three, two, one, and mark." Everyone smoothly shifted into position, Even Francis who normally would have grumbled.

"Okay boys lets get ready. Firing squad, fire when you have clear shots, on my mark stop firing immediately, then focus fire on your targets."

The two formations stood ready.

"was this like the army?" Louis asked Bill.

"In the army, it was hotter, and everyone looked the same. Those are the only real differences."

They heard cries of infected along with rifle cracks. All across the perimeter, people were still taking shots and killing zombies.

The first runners came out. Bill had his carbine rifle out and was waiting for clear shots. Zoey had her two pistols out and ready. Francis was waiting with his desert eagle ready, the Shot guns he carried ill suited for this kind of mission.

Louis was equipped well though. His shot rang out first, the rifle exploding one zombies head.

He put the rifle back without chambering another round. The P90 swung out and he laid his eye to the scope. Short bursts pepperd the zombies, mostly in the heads.

Along the line others had opened up. Mostly with handguns though, but some with combat rifles.

There were lots of zombies. For every one shot down another dozen took its place. The tide slowed as they were forced to wade through gunfire, but still advanced.

"Mark!" All gunfire ceased as the warriors rose and marched forward.

The gunmen clustered together in a semi circle, on the lookout for their targets.

First kill went to Rick. He used a throwing knife, an unbalanced kitchen steak one at that, to gore a zombie in the eye. The blade hit brain and dropped the undead thing, air causing the brain to haemorrhage and the last living cells to die.

A ballad of war was in action. The wedge slowly revolved but no warrior ever fell. they had support form their comrades and they hacked bashed the zombies. Not one got past the wedge. One got in though, a hunter leaping onto a man knocking him down. Two men stepped forward and one back, the two stepping forward swinging with abandon driving off the press while the third decapitated the hunter; all four fell back in line, less than 3 seconds from hunter leap to reform.

Rick was on point indeed, his sabre slashing around, hacking off limbs, severing heads and his thick gloved hand smashing forward.

Minutes ticked by until a hulking from appeared, making it way to the formation.

"Wedge veer left on my mark; mark" rick calmly said. IN an instant the triangle had stopped it turn and just walked left, everyman moving in such perfect unison that the United States army general would have cried.

The gunmen opened up. The tank turned toward them hauling itself through the bullet storm. Bullets tore through layers of muscle and sprayed blood everywhere but still the tank came.

Francis unlimbered his shot gun, and emptied it into the monster as it got closer, then switched and pumped out his sawn off as well. The tank was almost upon them and the group starting to lose hope when sniper rounds slammed into it. Several large gaping holes just appeared and the heavy shells tore into it.

The tank fell back, massive chunks of gore missing from it.

Ahead the blood bath drew closer.

"Gunmen back to the platforms! Five to each farthest one, when you have the angle let em have it."

The line split immediately half running right, the other half left.

In under fifteen seconds, more gunfire roared. The angle preventing from zombies from joining the pursuit as the platforms began to raise.

The last few zombies fell to the wedge just behind where the gunmen had been.

Back behind the main gates everyone was tiredly swaying with the same grin plastered on their face.

"Good work out there. Soon as we know, we will post the number we killed. So far as i can tell, all we lost out there were bullets."

A cheer went up.

Stan rejoined his brother with his sniper on his shoulder.

"we think that was around four hundred zombies, by rough guesses anyway. Considering how many we killed with so little bullets, I have to admit the whole CQC squad was a good idea."

"fire any rounds?"

"two. Te kept out of the cover fire for the most part but we picked off a couple smokers. There was four tanks, one slipped through though and the gunmen had to deal with it. I blasted its head nearly clean off."

"You guys ca go back to bed if you want. After a defence mission you aren't expected to do anything else except clean your gear right after, eat something healthy and go to bed."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Longer chapter. Kinda boring i suppose but should be more action now. Hope you liked it. Review if you did eh

Thewarlord


	6. aftermath and the next big mission

Hey all. Sorry for the long delays in chapters but hey what can i say. Quick recount we found out that the fort is low on supplies and a massive run is being organized. Bill, Zoey, Francis, and Louis just got a taste of how the fort operates, like a clock. Quick reminder on each persons weapons. Bill has a carbine rifle, AK47 an uzi and a hunting knife. Zoey has two small handguns called sigs. Two revolvers and a flare gun with an almighty baseball bat. Francis has a sawnoff shotgun, a desert eagle, a combat shotgun.. his melee weapons are a machete and steel backed biker gloves. Louis has a p90 (remember its a fast shooting sharpshooting gun) a hunting rifle and a magnum. He uses a hatchet.

Francis and Bill both had gone to their little house, leaving Louis and Zoey wandering around. The camp always had something going on. Right now several people were practicing with weapons in the small arena.

"Lets check that out. It would be good to meet some new people." Zoey suggested.

Louis had been hoping to check out the main building again to see the people in charge.

"Sure, why not?"

They walked into the same arena area they had been tossed around in yesterday and found it filled with folding chairs and benches.

Two men were duelling, but not with fists or swords. One was swinging around a baseball bat and the other was using a rope.

"Is that safe?" Louis wondered aloud.

"relax. The bat is rubber and has some foam on it, the rope user normally uses a chain." A man replied.

The rope flicked around, and the baseball bat batted it away each time. Both men were covered in some kind of padding, with foot ball shoulders, goggles and what appeared to be fencing suits.

Eventually the baseball bat swung in and bonked the opponent on the head. Despite the helmet it appeared to stagger the person back.

A ref stepped in and called it an end.  
The person with the baseball bat tore off the helmet and goggles, what Louis had thought was a guy was apparently a girl.

Some of her hair was gone, the rest looked singed, it was still a nice red colour though. Big hazel eyes looked back to the crowd.

Francis was passed out and Bill had went for a nap in his own bed. Awakening to hear the sawing of snoring he knew Francis was still asleep.

Bill left, wandering around until he saw James.

"Hey old guy how's it going?"

"it's goin good."

James was sitting with his back to a tree, one of the few in the concrete area.

"they tell you a bout the next mission?"

"No, what is it?"

"Supply run. Massive week long one. Going to the nearest big un-tapped city."

"Who were you before this bullshit all started? I can tell from most people but you seem different."

"I was a pastor."

Silence followed for many minutes.

Sunday rolled around and runners were going to every soldiers building.

Zoey answered the knock.

"Good you are all up. Meeting in the plaza in ten minutes. Don't be late. Be ready to travel." Stan told her before dashing off.

"Guys!" Zoey called turning to relay the message.

The plaza was filled with people. It wasn't orderly rows either, more like a mass of people who had just been told there was cake, but they couldn't eat it.

There was a small platform where the DJ equipment had been last Friday. It was gone and instead some people stood up there.

Pat was there in his business suit, pistol in a holster at his side. Rick, Stan and James were there as well, but they were all armed to the teeth, Rick in his armour and Stan pushing bullets into a clip.

"Silence!" Pat roared. For somebody with only one gun he sure got attention when he wanted it.

"This supply run is going to be different. Of our six hundred soldiers five hundred of you stand before me. It will be a week before you do once more. Each of you will report to your squad leader, whom will brief you further. The goal of this run is bullets! We need as many as you can get. Rather than one APC, each squad will also have two. Modifications to all have been made. Good luck!"

The crowd began filtering away into groups, going to where squad captains held up signs with numbers.

"where do we go?" Francis asked looking around.

"You guys are with me and James. " Stan replied.

Everyone jumped at the sudden appearance.

"What squad are we?"

"Alpha. We don't have a number. Its ten members who are given a unique mission."

Stan led them back to the podium where it was only his brother and Stan left.

"Good you four. You are getting paired with out two best soldiers for a special mission. I have no idea when you will return but this is a class one mission. We just got a trio of people in from a stronghold much like this one, only with a falling perimeter. They are being re outfitted right now and will be joining you. Your APC has been modified with a reserve gas tank, as well as metal sheeting to slide down over the glass. It will be your home for the next little while. Go to this new fort. Its north apparently, and tell them to load up everything they can, and get down here."

"Survivors on the way?"

Pat laughed.

"if there are any help them of course but somehow i doubt you will. Good luck boys. Your vehicle is stocked up and good to go."

"How cool would it be to rescue somebody?" Louis asked.

"Well if they are like you a pain. I spent hours scrubbing up your blood." James replied.

The armoury had three people standing , outfitted nearly the exact same.

All three wore combat vests, all three had rifles, the standard m4 carbine bill used from the looks of things. A pistol decorated their sides as well as a utility belt of various gear. Not one had a third gun. The main difference between hem was the middle one was a girl, one who looked ready to try and rip the teeth off a bear.

The other two men were tall, white and thin.

"This is Kelly, Jake and Johnson, yes they are twins."

Introductions were made all around and James led them to the vehicle.

"Let's ride, if you have to pee go now."

Francis walked away.

Sorry it's so short but this is mostly so you all know that i didn't just give up on the story. Next chapter will be much more interesting.

TheWarLord


End file.
